Time Immemorial
by DancesWithSugarCubes
Summary: A lesson in the clemency of Lord Voldemort.
1. I

**I.**

With a heavy groan, from a mouth smelling of licorice, a young man collapsed against his sheets. Sweat dotted his forehead and collected in pools between his shoulder blades and he gazed, sideways, out of a steam covered window, into the cool October night. All to be seen was the warm glow that emanated off a nearby street lamp, blurred from the condensation of the now stifling room he occupied. He ran a finger across the smooth skin of the woman next to him. It was moist, like a cold egg left in the heat.

"This shall be our last night, for a spell," he said against a bony shoulder, trailing his lips, feather light, over the milky skin.

"A spell?" His companion replied indignantly, readjusting in the large bed she lay against, "You will be gone for a month."

His strong, familiar arms wound their way over her slim waist, pale as the winter moon, and, though the body with which he clung to did not flinch, it did not welcome the embrace either.

"You know I have no other choice," he told her calmly, "You know of my position, of what our… communion has brought on."

She threw heavy, midnight blue covers from her body, pushing away from olive skin and sat up straight, wrapping a silk dressing gown across her naked frame.

"Yes, of course, how could I not! I am reminded of it every day!" She said, as her feet made soft thuds against old, wooden floor boards. She busied herself in front of a large vanity, brushing through waves of dark hair.

The man rolled over, so that his head was at the foot of the bed, chin rested against his forearms with a cheeky smile on his lips and asked, "Do you regret it, then? Our marriage?"

She turned to him sharply, piercing his gaze with deep blue eyes and thick lashes. "Don't be a fool," she reprimanded, the edge of her mouth pinching in.

"Then you understand why I must go," he said, sitting up and pulling a hairy leg toward his pelvis.

"I am not so naive as to think -" She stopped, catching her scrunched face in her hands, just before tears began to sprinkle out of her eyes.

The man was beside her in an instant, pulling her close to his chest, stroking through her hair gently and speaking softly. "My sweet, please understand; I would not go if I were given any other choice. My father…"

"Your father is imprudent!" she gasped through her tears, "He doesn't understand, times have changed. If he would only find new company, the families he associates with… his priorities are out of place!"

"Our loyalties are the same," he said softly, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her head.

She pushed his hand away, roughly, slamming the paddle of her brush against the wooden dressing table and stood up, crossing the room in a few long strides. Turning back to him she cried, "It may be where your loyalties lie, but not my own! Mine are to my family!"

He hushed her quickly, but did not meet her face, "You will frighten Thomas."

"He is asleep and well! Not a care in his small mind – other than when his father will be free to give him flying lessons, as he was promised!"

He swiveled slowly on his heel, still kneeling against the floor, resting his palm against the table. "Isabel… please. I could not bear to leave knowing I've upset you so."

She fell against the bed, slamming her thin hands to the mattress and then tensing to keep them from rebounding. "Then I should be happy to continue arguing!" she cried, "If it will keep you safe!"

He laughed – and sounded as though he meant it. Standing up, he reached down to the floor for his discarded pants, which he climbed into with minimal effort and then settled next to Isabel, propped up against his elbow.

"This last assignment and I will be done. I promise you. We have been granted safe passage, from the Dark Lord himself." He cupped her face in his hand. Fresh tears began to swell once again. "We will go to Germany. I promise you this."

She turned her head, so that her cheek rubbed against his thumb and said softly, "I don't believe it."

"I made a commitment to you, on the day we married. I would leave this life behind… and I intend to do so," he beseeched, "But it is more complicated that you can know. Our family line runs deep and the Makellos are too proud a house to bend to time's will. The connections that we have garnered through the years…" he gazed down, releasing Isabel's face and began to pick at a torn callous on his hand, "they would not be pleased to find my views have changed. Even still… he has promised… if I am satisfactory in my efforts -"

"You will die…" Isabel lamented, drawing her face back into her hands, "You will die and I will be widowed before I am twenty-two. Thomas will forget every moment you've spent with him and I shall be left with only memories of your service to a megalomaniacal lord!" She finished in a shout.

His eyes darkened, as if a shadow had sunk into his heart. "Think true thoughts, my love, but do not speak of the Dark Lord in such a way. Not while he still reigns supreme. You cannot always be so certain of your company as you are with mine."

"I. Do not. _Care_." She seethed through gritted teeth, turning her face away.

Bowing his head, he stayed quiet for a while, grasping the sleek fabric of his wife's robe between his fingers. And it was almost silent, save for the small choking breaths that would escape from behind Isabel's alabaster hands.

"I do care," he spoke at last, "I care so much, that I would give my life a thousand times over, in a thousand different ways to keep you and Thomas safe."

Shaking her head, disbelief etched across her young features, she whispered, "Kayleb has said before – when we were young. The Dark Lord, he does not so readily forgive! He will not let you go freely!" Terror had constricted her face, so that her eyes remained large, like two rounded and glittering sapphires, but the surrounding tissue was unmoved.

"You mustn't believe the words of your raconteur brother. He knows too well how to distress you. This last assignment. I promise. "

And then, she seemed to come alive and she spoke quickly, sitting up to meet her husband, in a frenzy. "We can run! Tonight. He wouldn't find us… if we took the proper precautions –"

"He would," he said with a shake of his head, "He would find us and we would all be dead before we left the country. And I would not leave my family – or yours to the mercy of him then."

She brushed away his comment, pulling his body into hers, "Minions! Slaves to a tyrant! You would wish to protect them? But still, it wouldn't have to be so. They can be swayed… just as you have been!"

Touching his forehead to her own, he let his eyes close gently and stroked a smooth, rosy cheek. "But as you have already come to understand, love, my family's loyalty is to the Dark Lord, as is mine, for the time being. If I am successful, we will be granted amnesty. It has been arranged, you must trust me."

She did not respond at first, but pulled back from him, her expression wrought in defeat and anger.

"You would not even try?" She pressed.

"No," he said with a raise of his eyebrows and shake of his head.

She turned from him again, dragging the cover down from the bed, and, laying back, she pulled the dark material up to her neck.

"Then go and die."


	2. II

**II.**

"Come! Quickly – _come!_"

A sleeping toddler was ushered out of his bed and pulled over to a small cupboard, directly vertical to where his bed was. The woman, who had retrieved him, made no mention to his protests, but threw a cloak across his slight shoulders. It was too big, and folded passed his feet, onto the wooden floor beneath him, though she didn't seem to notice as she had already begun to carelessly throw robes and undergarments into a dark green satchel, by the time the fabric hit the floor. She clasped the bag shut with quivering hands and allowed one last look-over of the room, before grabbing onto her son and pulling him toward the only door out.

"Where is Papa?" The boy asked, rubbing moist eyes between two chubby hands. She turned at the mention of her husband.

Three weeks had passed between their last meeting. Not a single piece of correspondence had crossed between either, until, that night, when an owl had landed upon Isabel's window, hooting softly to announce its presence.

"Papa is waiting for us! Come, my sweet, come!"

They made their way from the small room, not bothering to close the door behind them and rushed down the long hallway. Thomas tripped under the length of his cloak, but his mother was there in an instant, catching him under the arms and pulling him upright once again. Chubby, cherub sized fingers clasped tightly onto thick folds of her violet cloak and they continued on.

It was dimly lit and no windows permeated the ancient walls, which were covered in dark wallpaper with bronze filigree. Their footsteps echoed, so that it sounded as though, not two, but a hundred feet were hurrying passed the row of doors on either side of them, down to where a single closed door marked the end of the corridor.

Suddenly, Thomas stopped, sharp enough to make Isabel catch her footing and she turn around to gawk at her son. His eyes were stained red with the tears that were threatening to spill over his familiar brown eyes – the same eyes as his father had.

"What about blankie?" his suddenly alarmed voice cried out, "I want my blankie!"

Chewing her lip, Isabel glanced back down to Thomas' room, and then up to where the door was stationed.

Pulling Thomas along, once again, she dashed onward, down the thin strip of floor, "We will come back for blankie, but for now we must move quickly. Do you understand, my love?"

"I don't want to go!" He howled in protest, pulling against his mother's hand, trying to dislodge his own. Readjusting her grip to his wrist, she only spared a quick glance down at him.

"Let's play the spell game, shall we?" She whispered in a rushed voice, taking on a smile that allowed her voice to soften, if only slightly. "Hm? Would you like that?" When he did not reply, she continued, "What does the engorio spell do? Hm?"

Dragging along behind his mother, he turned his face away from her, his lips pulling down and tears slowly leaking onto his scrunched up face.

"I don't know!" he said, tugging against her arm, "I don't want to play! I want Papa! Where is he!"

"You know it, my sweet. My wonderful, smart, boy. You know!" She stopped long enough to pull the child into her arms, and continued on, her pace faster now and the satchel slapped against her hip with each step. "Papa is waiting for us. We will see him soon. Now tell me, what does engorio do?"

The tears flowed freely and onto plump, reddened cheeks, and Isabel swallowed hard to behold the sight of her young son. Hugging him close to her chest, she threw open the last door, sliding into the drawing room. A still sniffling Thomas was set down in the middle of the space, and Isabel shuffled through an ancient desk, showering the room in a flurry of loose papers, where they settled to the floor, bathed in the moonlight, which seeped through long, crystal windows.

A loud crack sent her spinning around and she was met with the figure of a tall, thin man who was cloaked in shadows. The only thing that shown, were a set of long teeth from a mouth that had been curved into a crazed smile.

"Kayleb!" she cried out, pulling her son behind her cloak. He clasped onto her leg, peaking out at the man before them. "What are you doing here? We haven't called for you!"

"Have I frightened you, little sister?" He crooned, stepping into the light. He was lighter than her, in every way possible, as though the sun had not touched him in an age; but he held himself tall, covered by a thick cape that billowed as though caught in a storm, with each step. "But what should you be so weary of? You're not… running, are you?" His eyes darted from the scattered papers across the room, to her hands, which clasped securely around a dirtied jar.

"Floo Powder?" he asked, cocking his brow high.

Isabel did not answer him, but threw back a question herself, "Is it true? The rumors of which they speak? Is the Dark Lord truly gone?"

He nodded slightly. Sharp, curt.

The breath left her lungs softly, as if in relief, though her face did not betray any emotion. Thomas shuffled closer, with a whimper and buried his face within his mother's cloak.

The furrow left her brow line and she seemed to dance through her next question. "Then what are you doing here? I should have thought you'd leave the country. The aurors will be out in force with this news…"

Her brother, in comparison, was slow and methodical in his movements, and something stirred in his slim, skeletal face, which seemed to bite back the satisfaction behind his reply. "I've one last message to relay, from the Dark Lord."

"Marcus is not here," Isabel said; her voice commanding.

But then Kayleb scowled, grabbing the floo powder from his sister's hands and strewing it across the floor, where the glass jar shattered and then wafted up in great billows of dust. "Not for your husband," he sneered.

Looking taken aback, with her hand to her chest, she felt behind her body for Thomas. "What should he have to tell me? I am no death eater, not one of his minions to command!" she said with a haughty laugh and Kayleb stepped forward, his fists clenching tightly against his sides.

"You've grown bold since I've last seen you… I should quite like to clear the smirk off your face, sweet sister," he growled.

Her grin spread even wider.

"And I should like to see you try! You no longer scare me, brother."

The man studied his hand, which was covered by a black glove and he rubbed two fingers together, clearing away the trace of Floo Powder that had clung to the simple fabric. "Oh, but I will not have to try hard," he assured, "Shall we reminisce of our younger years? You were not so quick tongued then; perhaps I can remind you of your place in this family," and then he caught her face in his hand and pinched her cheeks together, surveying her features as a butcher does his prized swine. "What a mess you have created."

Her eyes darkened as small hands on her leg tightened reflexively, and a small muzzle rubbed against her, issuing a wet sniff. "My only contribution to our lovely family," she spat out, lip curled and an ironic smile fluttering across her face

His pale eyes fluttered and he kissed her, with tight lips, against the forehead. "Do not take your achievement so lightly. It is your marriage and your marriage alone, which has insured our pure-blood heritage."

"We will never be true pure-bloods!" she said with disgust, her lip pulling back into a sneer that did not match her soft features, "No matter who you swap spells with!"

"But that is not for you to decide, sister, only for your ministry in-laws to shape. And so they have…" Turning her face in his hand, his finger ran down her cheek, "Our papers have come in today and you would be surprised of the immaculate blood that now runs through our veins. And all because of you, sweet girl. You should have guessed our surprise; after all our convincing, all of our long… discussions of the importance of maintaining your value – your virtue – when my only sister gets herself knocked up… but not to just any family, to the _Makellos_. None of us thought he'd stay, but he did… You see, your inability to keep those pretty little legs of yours shut has granted us ranks within the most powerful army this world has yet seen!"

"Is this the message you wished to deliver!" She cried against his grasp, "Is this your last great task! He is using you, brother! You are of no true importance to him! You have spoiled your soul for a master who would not piss on you, were you on fire!"

Squeezing, if at all possible, even tighter, he pulled her face up to meet his, so that she stood on tip-toes. "You dare to speak to _me _in such a way! I have worked tirelessly to ensure our family's future! Do you understand what had to be done! To gain my position in his inner most circle?" He pushed her face away her from him and gestured toward the room, "The power which I now command! What he has taught me!"

Grasping into her the pocket of her cloak, her fingers clasped tightly around something. "Only to pacify your cravings… he would not share power with you. You are a fool," she whispered, shaking her head.

With darting eyes he drew his own wand, pointing it first at his sister, and then, with a smirk, behind her, at her son, "Keep quite calm," he shook as he spoke, "You do not want to anger me further. As you have said, your husband is not home to protect you."

"You will not hurt us, not without the Dark Lord's orders. We are protected -"

His shrill laugh stopped her mid sentence. "By what? The love of your husband? Where is he now, sister? He does not command our respect. And you – you are not worth more than the womb which will conceive our heirs. Your _only_ purpose was to capture the heart of a proper suitor, someone who could ensure our family's purity. And you have done so. You were bred for this exact role and we were so very pleased that it was not a wasted effort," he sneered, the mockery not lost from his voice, "But do not think for a moment that you are anything short of expendable. You may have captured his heart, but it is your cowardly soul which has ruined all our plans. _You_ had to go and change his heart. You had to _soften _him. To convince him that breaking his blood oath is worth the comforts of a harlot! And now I am left to clean up your mess!"

"By the orders of your pseudo-god?" she spat, "He is dead!"

"BITE YOUR TREASONOUS TONGUE!" He roared, raising his hand as if he was going to strike her, but then lowered it slowly and instead straightened the brooch on his cloak, composing himself, "Or I will cut it out myself."

Suddenly, teeth bared, Thomas flung himself from behind his mother, toward Kayleb, shouting "NO!" as he went. Kayleb caught him by the collar before his tiny fists managed to make contact, tossing the child back.

"Get back, bastard!" He shouted as Thomas fell to the floor and then wheeled back to Isabel. "You idolize this child of wedlock? He is unclean! How dare you -"

And then a slap rang out and Kayleb stumbled back, clutching his face in shock. Thomas had fled to a corner, huddling as close to the wall as his small body would allow.

"Get. Back. _Churl!_" Isabel's hand was still raised, but now it held her wand and she spoke in a vicious growl, a mother defending her cub. "He is my _son!_ And you will not touch him!" Her wand was pointed at his chest, but even so, Kayleb did not falter as he moved forward and soon his torso was pressed firmly against the wood.

"You have been ruined, sister," he said with contempt, pressing farther still, "You go as far as to put this nestling above your lord? You will pay for this treachery."

At this, her head fell back in a loud, shaking laugh and when she had finished, she slowly raised it up, lazily, to look at Kayleb. "Not my lord," she said, though her voice was quivering, "Yours. And he has fallen. Defeated by an infant! There is _nothing_ left for you to protect! You have lost! Understand?" Her voice rose as it came out, her bottom lip shaking from the malice in her voice, "And I will testify to my last breathe against you, my brother. I will go to my grave swearing your guilt and you will _rot_ in Azkaban for your crimes, and your bones will fill your chamber long after your black soul has gone."

Calmly, he stepped back a pace. "You seem to believe that the Dark Lord is nothing more than a simple man. He will return, more powerful before, but not before I've completed my final obligation..." A flurry of dark robes concealed him for a moment, as his heel twisted beneath the wooden floor, suddenly erratic, almost anticipatory in his movements. The demented smile once again twisting what should have been a handsome face.

"Your husband, is he still waiting for you?"

A muscle twitched in Isabel's cheek. "How do you know that?" She whispered.

And then he laughed.

"I told you, sister, my final obligation."


	3. III

**III.**

Another crack tore Isabel's eyes away from Kayleb and she let a cry escape her lips when she recognized who it was. Tripping over herself, she ran to her husband, but Kayleb grabbed her by the wrist, twisting it up sharply so that she cried out in pain and dropped her wand from her hand. It clambered to the ground and she was forced to slowly follow, from the strain on her wrist that Kayleb twisted, threatening to snap under his weight if she did not comply.

She looked to her husband, draped in the same robes he had left in, but he did not meet her gaze. He only stood, still as beast catching whiff of its prey, closer to the wall than to his wife. His face was covered by his hood and bent he bent it forward, casting a long shadow against his features.

"Finally!" Kayleb gleefully shouted, spinning around as though he were addressing a large crowd, "The man of the hour! The one we have all been so desperately anticipating."

Finding that her wrist had been released, Isabel began to crawl forward, on hands and knees, only to let out a great wail when Kayleb grabbed her long tendrils, pulling her head back.

"Marcus!" She called, reaching a hand out for her husband, "Help me!"

"He won't answer you. He can't." Kayleb taunted, releasing her hair and bending down to retrieve her wand from the floor. Waving his own, he pointed it toward Kayleb, who compliantly began moving toward them.

But something was not right about this man. He did not walk, but shuffled forward to where Thomas was crouched, his gait unsteady, as though on a broken ankle.

"The Imperius curse?" Isabel shouted acrimoniously, "YOU DARE TO USE AN UNFORGIVABLE CURSE ON MY HUSBAND?"

Another wail pierced through the high ceiling of the room. Kayleb had pulled her head back once more. "No, not the Imperius curse, sweet sister," he said, bending his head over her own, "Nothing so sanguine would befit the act of treason!"

"What have you done to him?" She moaned as her hands found her temples, pressing against them.

"My gift to you, sweet sister! From the Dark Lord himself! _I _am to be the one who ends this blatant disrespect! To give those who would besmerge our family name their just rewards!"

"What is this magic!" She screamed from the floor, hair freed from Kayleb's grasp, though she dared not try to run again. Thomas had begun crying once more, trapped between the wall and the looming figure of his father. "Come with me, please!" she called to him, "My husband, my love! He is dead, killed by a baby! We can go – we can start anew!"

"I have told you, on innumerable occasions, what would be the repercussions of defying the Dark Lord… Behold _dear sister!_ Your loving husband, who chose a common whore over his blood oath!" he laughed, waving his wand around like a conducting baton, leading the figure towards the small child, as a maestro does its orchestra. "Finally useful! Finally a true puppet of the Dark Lord! You will see what happens to those who betray their oaths!"

"Marcus! Speak to me! What has he done to you!" Running to meet him, her hands found his chest, and then she pulled back, her hand pressed against her mouth, stifling a retching noise caused from the pungent smell her nose had just inhaled.

"_Necromancy?_" she croaked and feeling behind her, though finding nothing for support, collapsed to the floor.

"He thought he would desert his cause! Without retaliation! He was a fool," and with a twisted smile Kayleb continued, "and you are now his fool widow, but do not fear him just yet." He withdrew Isabel's wand from the pocket of his robes, examining it in the soft moonlight, "He is quite obedient – he won't attack unless… ordered to do so." The weight of his sneer pushed Isabel even further to the ground and then he knelt down in front of her, waving the piece of wood across her face. Slowly, he bent the wand, which accommodated for the pressure, at first, until the popping sound of Larch being pushed too far signaled the threshold with which it would comply and it snapped in two, splintering off at the middle to reveal a silver thread of unicorn hair.

Isabel barely notice, though, the impact of the two clattering halves lost on her tear stained face as they hit the floor.

"You will have your precious family," Kayleb assured, "And they will lie in wait at the bottom of great lake. And when the Dark Lord rises again, the world will know his true power. Your names shall be forgotten, but your bodies will stay, awaiting his return – and you will bend to his hand until time immemorial!"

Having heard enough, she scooped Thomas into her arms, charging out of the room and back down the long hallway.

"You cannot run from him!" Kayleb called through his laughter, "He will never stop!"

She heard a distant crack – the sound of Kayleb disapparating? – but did not pause to validate her assumption, instead she continued down the corridor, only coming to a halt when she had thrown the door to Thomas' room closed. She turned around, cupping the small boy's face in her hand, as if his touch would soothe her shaking body.

Standing on his bed, she felt along the small window that had begun to soak the room in the first light of the morning. It was sealed shut, useless to open without a wand. So she stepped down, nodding her head and then staring back at her son.

"One final game, Thomas. A game of concealment," her voice was calm when she kissed him on the forehead and her lips lingered for a long while, taking in his scent.

She led him to the side of the room, in front of the same small cupboard and, as quietly as she could, hid both her son and self behind a row of clothes. Trying to keep her voice down, she cooed to Thomas, "It's all right, love. Everything shall be all right." She pulled him under her chin as she sat against the back of the closet and desperately trying to keep her voice even, she asked, "Lumos… what does Lumos do?"

Only a thin stream of light, which came from a space beneath the door, spared them from complete darkness. Thomas sobbed under her throat and the reverberation was felt in her chest, which pounded as though a dozen hands were trying to beat it into her stomach.

The door burst open, and in a second of blinding light, Thomas let out a yelp, burrowing his face beneath Isabel's bosom. Unable to stop herself, she cried out as well. Marcus stood in front of them, emaciated under his filthy robes, arms tensed at his side and lips pulled down to show dirty teeth. He had no sense of recognition on his face, no compassion – only rancor.

And then the darkness was complete.


End file.
